


I'll Bear All This Echoing

by Alkarinque



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Feanorian Week 2020, Gen, Prophetic Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23297095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alkarinque/pseuds/Alkarinque
Summary: Maglor has fears and love for a pair of twins, yet they are strange for him.
Relationships: Elros Tar-Minyatur & Maglor | Makalaurë
Comments: 5
Kudos: 53
Collections: Feanorian Week 2020





	I'll Bear All This Echoing

**Author's Note:**

> Half of this was written in one day, and the other half about a week later, on a phone. Let's say I had a really big rush of inspiration.
> 
> This was heavily inspired by the art of [ArlenianChronicles](https://www.deviantart.com/arlenianchronicles), specifically [ this art right here ](https://www.deviantart.com/arlenianchronicles/art/Vision-of-Tar-Minyatur-826981476). Credit where credit is due
> 
> Elrond and Elros is meant to relatively young here (at least mentally), around 6-8 years old in normal human years?? but they have still been with Maglor for a while. What age that makes makes them is up to you to decide.
> 
> Oh yeah, the title is from Florence + the Machine's 'Queen of Peace'

Maglor had known many children, more than most elves – he had known his younger brothers and taken care of them both in their childhood and youth; he had known his nephew and his wife’s nieces; his cousins on his mother’s side all had their houses filled with children, either their own or friends’; he had even known the children of his half-cousins, though only fleeting.

Yet these twins, though elven in their appearance, were strange to him.

They grew. Fast. He guessed it came from their human heritage, yet it unnerved him. That they after a few years could not fully remember Sirion and its inhabitants or, Maglor assumed though did not ask, their mother.

They became sick and he would sit by their beds long into the night, with a candle by their bedside and pray, because he did not know if it was an easy sickness or one which could rob them of their lives.

They broke their bones in play, because they did not play peacefully and did not fully understand their own strength and fragility. Maglor had seen human children play and remembered how his brother Curufin had once remarked that it was a proof of their lesser worth and their primitive ways, that the children played violent games in dirt and leaves, as if they were imitating the war of their elders’. Maglor only remembered thinking _‘but they laugh’_ and it was Elros and Elrond’s laughing which stopped him from putting a stop to their games.

(It had been during the Siege and Maedhros and Celegorm had shared Curufin and Maglor’s company through Estolad, on their way to Amrod and Amras. The winter had been harsh and the humans they passed looked grim and Maglor had found their grim children just as disconcerting. But after Curufin’s small declaration and monologue about the Edain’s doomed demise and unworth, Maedhros had told Maglor when they had been alone:

“Their children prepare for war, and that is what will keep them alive. They play warrior and leader and their elders do not stop them, for when they are in the ground their children will take after them against the Enemy.”

Maglor had argued, saying children were meant for peacetimes. He did not like his brother’s harsh opinions, even then. Maedhros had shook his head.

“Children do not choose what times they are born in and neither do we. We have peace now, do we not? Yet it will not last. It never will. But children”, and here his brother had given a rueful smile, “will find a way to laugh even then. And what makes a war easier to endure, but laughter?”

Maglor had not asked for more of his brother’s opinions, secretly thinking they were barbaric.)

But he loved them despite their strangeness. It was a parental love which scared him more than he would admit – he loved when he had to solve their brotherly squabbles; he loved the quiet evenings by the herd they shared; he loved their small hands, who he guided on a harp’s strings or with a needle or was just allowed to hold in his; he loved their voices, the way they filled a loneliness around him he had not admitted he had; he loved their small moments.

He had never been so afraid.

Elrond had caught a cold. His coughing could be heard throughout their camp and it hung above everybody’s head. Elrond had looked ashamed every time a cough seemed to force itself out of him and Maglor had tried to sooth him, until he could not take the unease any longer and left for some air. No one remarked to him that they basically lived under the free sky and that fresh air was everywhere, not even Maedhros as he passed him by the fire, though his dark eyes followed him until he was out of sight.

It was dark and only Varda’s stars and the moon gave light through the trees. Maglor should be worried, alone in a forest was never safe, not anymore, but all was quiet except for the sound of a small spring. He sat down at the side of it, ignored how his trousers became wet and cold from the water, and sighed.

The moon was reflected in the flowing water and he tried to concentrate on that and push other thoughts away. Every time one of the boys fell sick, he felt the ever-present fear come out in full force; their fragility scared him like no monster of Morgoth could. He knew nothing of Men and their sicknesses or how it affected the twins; he had learned they were more resilient than the Edain, able to withstand most common colds and colder winters, yet they lacked the strength of a full elfling. What were they? Only Ilúvatar knew.

He heard a branch break behind him and without a word whipped his head around.

It was Elros.

The twins looked like mirrors to each other, but Elros always had another glint to the eye; an unwavering determination and childish curiosity with which he raised his chin and gave smiles. Elrond was more intense and careful with his laughter, though when he dared to be joyful he was overflowing. Maglor could always easily distinguish one from the other.

“Elros”, he now said and tried to give a reassuring smile, though he felt it slipping.

The child was not stupid; he saw through it and frowned. Maglor sighed and threw a glance at the spring and the clear water, as if it could help him in that moment. He could not speak of his fear to the children; it would do little but worry or silence them. The trust they bore for him was no weak thing, but it was not strong as one between a parent and child.

_Quiet,_ he immediately told himself, _do not finish that line of thought._

“Elrond has stopped coughing now, so I think he will be able to sleep soon”, Elros said in an easy manner, perhaps because he understood that something with Elrond's cold upset Maglor.

“That is good”, the older elf said, but his eyes remained on the water.

Elros pouted. “Maedhros isn’t talking back or answering, he just grunts and growls.”

Elros' fascination with the eldest of Fëanor's brood was astounding and the followers of the last remaining two sons found it greatly amusing. Maglor felt his lips quirk in an almost-smile.

“He is like that some nights; you know this.”

Elros pouted more but it disappeared and the frown made a reappearance when Maglor gave him no other reaction.

“Are you worried for Elrond?” he asked and took a few steps closer. The damp ground gave way to his small feet and he wrinkled his nose but tried to ignore it. “He will be fine; it’s just a cold. _I’m_ fine, aren’t I?”

Elros had had the same cold just the week before and Maglor had been just as afraid then, though the child had recovered faster than his brother.

“It is just unreasonable worries, child. Nothing for your ears”, Maglor said and hoped it did not sound dismissive to the boy.

The boy snorted. “For whose then? Maedhros?” he said, as if insulted. “He probably doesn’t listen half of the time.”

For someone he found interesting, he certainly was not blind to their faults.

Maglor chuckled. “For none. My own. All worries are not to shared.”

Elros huffed at that but sat down beside him and tried to hide the grimace at the feel of wet, cold mud. _He should probably not get wet and cold when there is no sun and warmth,_ Maglor distantly thought but did not stop him. He was rather curious; these children surprised him as often as they frightened him.

“All worries are to be shared”, Elros said and it was with a glass clear honesty. “Or else, they only grow.”

Maglor could argue against that statement, though he knew it held some truth. Some worries would only help other’s grow and were therefore better kept away.

“Well, these are not for you”, he said and tried to make it sound final. “Perhaps I shall tell one of my captains or friends, but you are better left in the dark.”

“No one is better left in the dark”, the child then said and Maglor knew he now spoke of something else.

He focused his energy on the new problem and shoved his fears back into its dark, unacknowledged corner.

“What do you mean?” he asked. Let children tell on their own.

Elros was quiet for a while and Maglor turned his face to him, where he sat on his left side, until the child at last answered.

“I think, mother used to go down to the pier at night, sometimes. When it was dark. She would bring her servant with her ... Boreth, I think she was called. But she was never alone.”

Maglor said nothing; was nearly afraid of disturbing Elros in his thoughts. Memories of Sirion were rare for the boys and Elros reminisced the least of the two. He had once asked what was left of the city and Maglor had guiltily replied that it most likely was only ruins and fallen towers left. Yet, the boy had not looked sad, but thoughtful. Maglor had felt an uncomfortable knot of fear inside for days after.

Elros seemed to snap out of the memory and looked up to meet Maglor's eyes with his own. He had been told the boys had the eyes of Dior Eluchíl and his mother Lúthien, but he had always found them alike to those of his cousin Turgon. Except kinder than his last memory of his tall, kingly, half-cousin's eyes.

“Either way: one should not sit alone in the dark, so I came to sit with you.”

It was a childish comforting and a strange turn of conversation after the pouting, the complaints and a reminiscing of a lost parent. Maglor allowed himself to chuckle.

“Thank you”, he said because what else could he say? Order Elros to go back to camp and his brother’s bedside where he should definitely be?

“No problem”, Elros quipped and Maglor smiled.

They sat in silence, except for the sound of the spring and the forest.

“We should head back”, Maglor at last said after an unknown amount of time had passed. He had lost himself in thoughts and Elros had not said a single word, but left him to his own.

Now, the child only nodded and rose. He tried to brush the mud off, but it was wet and the trousers were already ruined. Maglor saw him wrinkle his nose but he could only smile at the sight and feel the warm surge of fondness.

“Maglor?” Elros said and Maglor grew serious again.

“Yes?”

He was still sitting, so he could easily look in the eyes of the boy and the boy could do the same to him.

“Don’t worry. Elrond will be fine. And so will we after every cold and every broken arm, I swear it. And Maedhros will be fine, too. Eventually.” Elros gave him a bright smile. “The world is not so dark when we are together.”

_This kind child,_ Maglor thought with wonder as he could feel tears pressing behind his eyes and he smiled back. He could not find anything to say and Elros seemed to notice.

He stretched his small arms around Maglor’s neck in a warm embrace and Maglor sighed shakily and closed his eyes at the feel of soft, dark hair against his cheek. He smelled of smoke from the fires of the camp and a little bit of horse, too.

_This child,_ he thought and his eyes burned. He breathed in the smell. Elros did not seem to mind the tightness.

Maglor opened his eyes. And he froze. And he blinked.

The light was of another world and this itself revealed it to be one of the prophetic sights Maglor had only heard his mother speaking of a long, long time ago. But it was not the light that froze him – though it was eerily familiar; it was an echo in the same way his father’s Silmarils were the Trees' light but at the same time not -, no, it was the man.

_He looks like Turgon,_ he thought absently and yes, the jaw and grey eyes were Turgon's – Maglor remembered them hard in anger opposite of him, at a lake far away and a time long gone – but the cheekbones were someone else's. Dark hair reached to the man’s shoulder in small waves. The man was tall – so tall! -, taller than Maglor’s brother, and his robes were of unfamiliar design, though rich. Satin and silk – far from the wool and linen Maglor had grown used to seeing since the Siege, no, since he left Aman. It was embroidered and he could make out stars, waves, trees, and silver and gold. They stood in stark contrast to the dark fabric underneath, which was dark blue – nearly black – with some layers in lighter hues. But over the shoulders hung a cloak of red.

He felt familiar – so familiar – but Maglor could not place the man. He was of the Edain – his skin was clearer and smoother than theirs used to be, but darkened from sunlight, just like Elros and Elrond's, and he has weak lines around his eyes. _They look old,_ Maglor thought, _his eyes are old._ But the man was not frail of age, no, he looked youthful, or at least in the prime of his life. And they were not tired, but sure and warm and calm. Maglor tried to remember every Edain he had met – they were relatively few – but he knew he would have remembered such a man.

On his head was a crown. The Edain had no kings – they had lords. The crown was in the shape of wings, wings of sea-birds, and of shimmering silver, though light and small in comparison to the ornate works across the sea, among Maglor’s closer kin.

_Is this what they will be?_ He wondered for himself. _Is this what will become of the Secondborn?_

But more loudly he asked: _but who is he?_

The man bowed his head in small acknowledgement and Maglor gripped tighter, feeling Elros in his arms. The man then smiled and stretched out a hand. Was Maglor to take it? No, the man raised it in greeting; a small wave. It was a gesture strange to see a king make and Maglor could not comprehend it – where had he seen that before?

Then he blinked. He was gone. His light, his smile, his might – all that remained was the dark wood and Maglor, holding a child in his arms.

Maglor took a deep breath and the smell of Elros’ hair brought him properly back from the sight. He untangled himself from the embrace and the child’s arms from around his neck and leaned backwards slowly.

“See? Don’t you feel better now?”

The words made him smile and he looked down on Elros with a smile but froze inside.

“But we probably need to get back now – Elrond is definitely asleep, but you always say we shouldn’t be in the forest alone, especially not at night”, the child talked on and for once did not notice.

Maglor said nothing, but he rose and started walking back to the camp with Elros. The boy walked ahead and sometimes turned around to be certain Maglor followed. Maglor would smile, and look back – into the face, oh the younger but very much the face, of the man; the king.

**Author's Note:**

> :D
> 
> Elros Tar-Minyatur is one of my favorite characters; Maglor just happens to be someone i write surprisingly often.
> 
> Give a kudos or comment if you liked it! is it only me who likes Elros specifically??


End file.
